Lord,
	Where are my prayers?
	They seem
	Smaller than a mote
	Within my hollow heart
	And more empty
	Than the void of space.
	When I shout,
	The echoes
	Ring through the Universe,
	But all I hear
	Is their empty
	Return to my ears.
	If I whisper,
	All the words seem lost,
	Growing thinner, fainter,
	Til nothing else remains.
	I listen for Your voice,
	And sometimes,
	I hear it in the wind,
	Or see it
	Dancing down a moonbeam.
	You speak through a blossom,
	In a curl of smoke,
	With the gleam
	Of a precious jewel.
	You are Everywhere--
	But I cannot understand
	Your enternal speech.
	I am troubled
	By my thoughts, O Lord,
	For they fester
	With loveless greed
	And selfishness.
	Where I should love,
	I am indifferent;
	Where I should listen,
	My ears are closed.
	When I should care,
	I turn away.

	5/14/76

© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

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